From the aproned individual who presented himself he ordered a drink.  The man returned in a moment, and Jimmie Dale tossed a coin on the table, bidding the other keep the change.  He wanted no drink; the transaction was wholly perfunctory.  The waiter was gone; he pushed the glass away from him, and tore the envelope open.

A single sheet, closely written on both sides of the paper, was in his hand.  It was her writing; there was no mistaking that, but every word, every line bore evidence of frantic haste.  Even that customary formula, “dear philanthropic crook,” that had prefaced every line she had ever written him before, had been omitted.  His eyes traversed the first few lines with that strange indifference that had settled upon him.  What, after all, did it matter what it was; he could do nothing—­not even save himself probably.  And then, with a little start, he read the lines over again, muttering snatches from them.

“. . .  Max Diestricht—­diamonds—­the Ross-Logan stones—­wedding—­sliding panel in wall of workshop—­end of the room near window—­ten boards to the right from side wall—­press small knot in the wood in the centre of the tenth board—­to-night . . .”

It brought a sudden thrill of excitement to Jimmie Dale that, impossible as he would have believed it an instant ago, for the moment overshadowed the realisation of his own peril.  A robbery such as that, if it were ever accomplished, would stir the country from end to end; it would set New York by the ears; it would loose the police in full cry like a pack of bloodhounds with their leashes slipped.  The society columns of the newspapers had been busy for months featuring the coming marriage of the Ross-Logans’ daughter to one of the country’s young merchant princes.  The combined fortunes of the two families would make the young couple the richest in America.  The prospective groom’s wedding gift was to be a diamond necklace of perfectly matched, large stones that would eclipse anything of the kind in the country.  Europe, the foreign markets, had been literally combed and ransacked to supply the gems.  The stones had arrived in New York the day before, the duty on them alone amounting to over fifty thousand dollars.  All this had appeared in the papers.

Jimmie Dale’s brows drew together in a frown.  On just exactly what percentage the duty was figured he did not know; but it was high enough on the basis of fifty thousand dollars to assume safely that the assessed value of the stones was not less than four times that amount.  Two hundred thousand dollars—­laid down, a quarter of a million!  Well, why not?  In more than one quarter diamonds were ranked as the soundest kind of an investment.  Furthermore, through personal acquaintance with the “high contracting parties,” who were in his own set, he knew it to be true.